


What We Did On Our Holidays

by telemachus



Series: Rising-verse [36]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, No angst at all, elflings who are slightly too cute to be true, fluffy version of LOTR, naive people who are not parents, tales for elflings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:45:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2833607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telemachus/pseuds/telemachus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas & Gimli are telling Caradhil's elflings a story.</p><p>A Story that may seem Familiar.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Did On Our Holidays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hope91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope91/gifts), [Wynja2007](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/gifts), [consumptive_sphinx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consumptive_sphinx/gifts).



> Holiday gift for Hope91 & Wynja2007, because they do not believe I can write fluff with no angst.
> 
> And for Snow_Glows_Blue, because - Caradhil clearly doesn't sugar-coat the tale either.

They look at me, and I – I have no idea what tales one tells to little elflings. I try to remember – I am sure Doroniel or another kind Silvan must have told me tales – but – I do not know which ones when I was as small as Taithel is.

Suddenly all the tales I can think of are full of – death, and evil, and fighting – and – he is so small.

I am sure, completely sure, that his sister would be only too happy to hear the most bloodthirsty tales – of kinslaying, and punishment, and why some returned not to Valinor for many Ages of the world. If her father is anything to go by, she will love to hear of Noldor making mistakes, I think, and am surprised at myself for my cynicism.

“The Hare and the Snail?” I suggest, remembering one which must be harmless – and Taithel likes animals – but Tegylwen’s expression tells me I am wrong.

“We are not babies,” she says, scornfully, “even Taithel is too old for that. Ada was telling us of Hurin – and his children.”

Was he? 

Really?

I cannot think of any part of that tale that is suitable. And, I think, as I look at my beloved, there are parts of it that really, truly, do not paint a pleasant picture of the relations between elves and dwarves.

I am surprised at Caradhil. 

I wonder what he and my love have argued over this time.

Anyway.

I look at my Gimli for help – he was a child not so very long ago – surely – he has friends with children, but – I can see there will be little help there.

Tegylwen speaks again,

“Tell us of the War. Your adventures. We know Ada and Naneth were in the Old Forest, fighting there, with the King – but what were you doing?”

Oh.

I gather my thoughts.

“I – I was sent to Imladris. To a – a gathering of many peoples. Elves, all sorts of elves, and Men, and dwarves, and – and hobbits. And – it was decided, that the Ring should be destroyed –“

“What ring, Le-las?”

I suppose it is not an animal, he will not have listened, if he has even been told of this.

“The Ring that the Dark Lord made, that he was seeking, the Ring that if he found he would become powerful enough to –“

“To make all the elves sail away,” my love interjects, and when I look at him in confusion, he glares at me, and makes a gesture which I think – and I am not very good at his mine-sign – I think means small rocks. 

Oh.

He means they are too little.

But I have started this now – they are waiting for more.

“Yes,” I say, “to make all the elves sail away. So we two – one elf, one dwarf – left Imladris with one Istar, two Men and four hobbits. And we walked, and we walked, by night –“

“Because the elf liked the stars,” he says, and I again look at him – surely elflings are allowed to know it is easier to hide by night? – but the glare is in his eyes again, so I nod, and carry on,

“And then we tried to climb over the mountains, but there was too much snow, and –“ I am about to tell of how Caradhras has no love for moving creatures of any sort, but again he speaks across me,

“and the little hobbits’ feet were cold, for they do not wear shoes,”

I shrug, because it is at least not an actual lie,

“so we walked towards the Mines of Moria, the great dwarf Halls. But at the gate – “ and this time I stop myself, and instead of the creature, the battle, I tell of a riddle, of hobbits laughing over foolish elven words, of dwarves being so trusting in those far-off days as to write their password over their door – and the elflings laugh.

“Gim-i not do that,” Taithel says, and his sister agrees,

“No, Ada says you are far too cautious to trust any so easily, lord Gimli, is that not so?” 

I smile and watch my love remember not to swear, not to speak ill of their father.

“Once inside,” I say, “we had to walk for four days and nights through the darkness, all the while not knowing –“ what followed us, what lay in wait, I am about to say, when he once more interrupts,

“not knowing what the silly elf was singing about,” he says, and I – I am beginning now to find this amusing.

“Mainly,” I say, “about what the silly dwarf was doing, and why he need smoke his horrible smelly pipeweed,” and they laugh – but my love – oh suddenly that is not funny. That is not funny at all, apparently, and he tugs my hair and I suspect – one day we will be telling this to dwarrowlings, and there will be many upon many a comment about elvish singing, and hair fussing.

“Then,” I begin again, and now – I am not quite sure how to tell this, for I would not dishonour his kin – yet he seems to think the mention of death not right for such small – albeit pointy – ears, “then we came to – a great tomb – where many proud warrior dwarves lay – and we stopped to pay our respects.” 

They both look at him, and Tegylwen even reaches out to touch his ears – and then remembers, and flushes. But before she can turn away, show herself ashamed, he has caught her hands, and nods,

“Indeed, lady of the flaming hair,” he says, “I would be honoured were you to treat me as one of your kind,” and she smiles, and they touch ears, as would be proper. I bite my lip, lest she think I laugh at her, when I laugh merely to see my beloved use his golden tongue on yet another pretty elf – and I wonder what my Caradhil will say when he hears of this.

“Le-las sad too?” Taithel is watching, and learning, and he reaches to my ears – and – well, no, I am not so very sad, I never knew any of those dwarves, but – it is a kind thought, and I cannot resist his big dark eyes.

“Better now,” I say, and he beams, “so then – then we hastened away – and there were still some or – goblins,” I remember the children’s word, “and with hobbits to protect, the Men drew their swords, and the axe of Gimli-nin drank deep on their blood – “

“the bow of Legolas sang, and every arrow found a mark,” he puts in, and so I should think.

“Pretty Le-las shot lots of gob-ins,” Taithel says, and he seems to be rebuking my beloved.

“But from the darkness there –“ I am going on, when again Gimli-nin kicks me, and 

“In the darkness, the Istar fell,” he says, and I am silenced in shock, what is he thinking? “for not being elf nor dwarf he could not see, and so he fell and was lost for a while. And we – unknowing of his safety – left those Halls.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, and shape the word ‘Balrog?’ because – because to me it is wrong to change the story so, but he looks again at the elflings most meaningfully, and I sigh. Perhaps he is right. Certainly he grew up in a more loving household than I, and more recently.

Perhaps the rules of such things change.

“we left,” I say, “and walked onwards to the land of Lorien,”

“which was full of grumpy, haughty elves,” 

“Galadhrim,” I say, hastily, “no, not like Ada’s friend Maegsigil. Not nearly as nice as him,” and I wonder to myself why Caradhil has been speaking of Maegsigil, whom he sent back to the Forest many years ago for failing to keep a civil tongue in his head when speaking to my Gimli. Caradhil thinks I do not know this, but I do. 

He also thinks I do not know he combed with Maegsigil for many years when I – I was too young for his group, too Sindar for his comb. 

I always knew.

Anyway.

“And the haughty elves insisted on blindfolding lord Gimli,” I say, and he glowers at me, and adds,

“But not only me – they blindfolded all of us. Even pretty Le-las,” and then he smiles so sweetly at me – it is as though he thinks it is a compliment to call me that.

“Then we met the King of that land –“

“And the Queen,” oh yes, my love, let us not forget the Queen. Bloody lady of Lorien. No. We are not allowed to forget her, are we?

“And they gave us gifts, and boats to travel on the River,” I say. “No, not the River that Ada poled rafts down for the King, this was a different River, and a different King, and a different Forest. Yes it was. I know it was. Because I was there. And the King that your Ada poled rafts for is my Ada, so I think I would know, do you not?”

They do not believe me. I can see it.

Nothing is as important as the things of which their Ada tells them, nothing is as real to them. I suppose that is how elflings should be.

I would not know.

“So we travelled down the Anduin,” he says, and I see that now, now they believe me. _They_ know perfectly well that the Anduin is not the name of the River on which their Ada poled rafts to Esgaroth, and visited Dale. 

“down the Anduin a long way,” I say, and I cannot help adding, “and some of us had to paddle twice as hard, because dwarves do not like boats. But, be that as it may,” ha, I used it, I used the Noldor silencing phrase for once in my life, “we finally stopped, and – and then two of the hobbits went onwards to destroy the Ring,” I pause and look at him, wondering how on Arda he is going to get round this one?

“And two of them went chasing off across the plains,” he says, and then looks at me for help, 

“and – and one of the Men – was – very – ill,” I say, slowly, “so – we put him – in a boat to – to be carried down to the Sea, and – and away to find healing.”

Well. 

In a way.

It is not a lie that would convince any but elflings, but they seem to accept it.

“So we and the other Man – followed after the two hobbits who had gone across the plains – because – because the other two – would be better alone.”

“Harder to see,” he explains, and makes a gesture with his hands to show how small hobbits are.

I nod, firmly, as they look disbelievingly at me.

“They are very small,” I say, and for a moment, only a moment, I consider mentioning the comparative sizes of dwarves and hobbits – but – on reflection, I think it is not worth all the muttering. “So – so we ran a long way across those plains. And the hobbits we were chasing found – oh lucky hobbits – they found – one of the Onodrim.”

And oh little elflings, wood-elves though you are, you have no idea how exciting that was.

“Really?”  
“Le-las see one too?”  
“Tell us?”  
“Tell us, Le-las?”

Oh. 

You do.

“in the proper place,” I say, “we were not with the hobbits then. We were busy – we had some more – goblins – to fight. And it was a big battle, all inside a stone building in the manner of Men,”

“But some of it inside the wondrous caves – caves you are going to come and see when you are a little older, are you not, my lord and lady of the flaming hair?” he asks, and I – I wonder if this has been discussed with their Ada.

“Yes, I think – I think that would be very interesting,” she says, and how, how is it possible for an elfling to be so composed at the thought? “Ada says he would like to see his dear friend Droin again.”

“Caves safe if Ada there.”

Of course. That is how. Ada will make everything well, I think, slightly sourly.

Do not be bitter, Legolas. 

No-one likes a bitter prince. 

“My caves are safe all the time,” my Gimli is affronted, I think, at the implication, “and we have some very lovely bats.” 

“Ba-s!” and the excitement and delight in his voice – Taithel will certainly be going now.

He knows his audience. Taithel cannot resist an animal.

“Anyway,” I say, “when the silly dwarf had finished looking at the caves, and let the elf win the battle for him –“

“Yes, elveses always win battles,” Taithel says, and I envy him his conviction.

“Warrior elves do,” his sister corrects him, and – and looks at me approvingly before explaining to our companions, “It is lucky you were there to win for them.”

And Taithel flushes, and oh, poor little elfling, he looks so ashamed, I say,

“Close enough, ellonneth-nin, anyway, when the dwarf had let the elf win the battle – “

“Let the – “ now my dwarf is lost for words, it seems, and I smile, innocently, as Taithel asks, wanting, I suppose, to show he believes me,

“Pretty Le-las kill lots of gob-ins?”

“Yes,” I say, and of course,

“But for all the dwarf’s looking at caves, I still killed more,” he has to put in, 

“Gim-i kill even more gob-ins than pretty Le-las?” Taithel checks, so sweetly that I cannot but be delighted with his surprise,

“Yes,” I say, “Gim-i – Gimli-nin killed more goblins than I,” and I pretend to whisper, “but I had been so worried about him when I could not see him that – I did not care he had won the game. I only wanted to touch ears and know he was still there, still my group,” and even now I can remember the fear that turned me cold all that long time of searching for him, but Taithel is little and does not want to hear of that – and Tegylwen is looking at me in that way that is disconcertingly like her father, so, I continue,

“Then we went and found our hobbits, and met the Onod, and he – he was everything they ever tell you Onodrim are. He was very old and very wise, and – very beautiful, as a tree is beautiful, and – I have not the words. He was overpowering in his majesty.”

I pause for a moment, and the elflings look at me.

“Like –“ Tegylwen stops.

“Ada says – “and now Taithel stops, and they look at each other, and then me, and then are very quiet.

I wonder what their Ada has said.

There is silence a moment, and then my Gimli laughs.

“No,” he says, “no, you could not be more wrong. The same words, but – but no. There is no comparison between the one you are thinking of, and the Ent – the Onod.”

I look between them all again, and I wonder of whom they speak.

“Well,” I say, when I see they are not about to explain, “then we took our hobbits, and went with the Istar, and the Man, and some other Men, back across the plains, and through a mountain –“ and I suppose it is good that they are elflings, they do not ask about the inside of that mountain, “and then – then we went on ships up the River – no, not that River, the same River as before, the Anduin, yes this Anduin, this one you live by,” and it occurs to me that it says much for Caradhil’s storytelling that the other River is so much clearer in their minds than this one, “up the River until we came to a city.”

“City?”  
“What city?”  
“What is a city?”  
“Why go to a city? Cities are for Men.”

We exchange glances. He makes the face that I know means bloody weird elves, and I – I smile.

He has a point – except – cities are for Men. Not for elves, not Silvans.

“Well,” I say, “there was a big battle, and both the hobbits were very brave, and fought nobly, and –“ but I suppose we are not to mention Nazgul, and now I think of it, it is probably better not to mention killing oliphaunts either, Taithel is very small, so “and then – then we and the Man, and the Istar, and many other people all rode down to Ithilien, and – and the goblins ran away because the hobbits had destroyed the Ring.”

“And then we – “ he stops, and perhaps he is remembering as I am, precisely what we did – or did not – do then.

“Then you all had a big party?” Taithel suggests.

“Yes,” I say, and add, “lots of parties. And Gimli – Gimli drank an awful lot of beer –“

“What is beer?”

Of course. They do not know.

Lucky elflings.

“Beer,” I say, “is something which smells like rotten bread, and tastes worse, and – and makes Men and dwarves – and hobbits – dance and sing – and – and comb people they should not.”

“Bitter?” my love asks, and I shrug,

“All sorts, it seems to me,” I say, “bitter, mead, all of it, you act the same.”

“Acted,” he corrects me quietly, “acted, elf, I would not now,” and the touch of his hand on mine is sweet.

“What does it do to elves?” Tegylwen – very sensibly – asks.

“Not much,” I tell her, “not much at all. Stick to wine. Wine is the drink for us.”

“So,” he says, “moving on from this educational discussion of alcohol,” and he seems to find this odd, but how shall an elfling know if they are not told? “there were indeed a lot of parties. And then – then everyone went home.”

“And Le-las was sad in the Forest, and you were sad under your mountain, and Ada brought Le-las to the nasty big city, and you were there, and you began to comb, and you vowed, and then Le-las went with you to your caves, because the silly Man did not like you and Le-las combing –“

“Because Legolas sang too loudly, and danced too much –“

“And Ada came here, and – and here we are,” Taithel finishes triumphantly.

We look at each other, and then back at them.

“You have heard some of it before?” I ask.

“All of it,” Taithel says, “but I like hearing it again. Thank you, Le-las, thank you Gim-i,” and there is a hug for each of us – and off he goes.

Tegylwen is older. She thanks us for the tale, and bows most courteously. As she turns to go, she looks back over her shoulder,

“It is different when Ada tells it,” she says thoughtfully, “there is a lot more fighting. You left out killing the Fell Beast and the oliphaunt, and all the ways the Quest would have failed without you, Legolas-ernil. And a Balrog, and nine Nazgul, and – lots of things. I like your tale too, though.”

She walks away, and – and I see in her saunter that she is indeed truly her father’s daughter.

I look at my Gimli, and he looks at me.

“Daft sodding elf,” he says, “they took you for a ride, didn’t they?”

I shrug, 

“It was not me that kept muttering about not scaring them,” I say, and I laugh, “perhaps it is as well we will not be having children of our own, my lord.”

He looks at me blankly a moment, and then he too laughs.

“Aye,” he says, “and since we will not – we will continue to have an entire flet to ourselves. Seems a shame to leave it empty for too long,” and he looks at me, and – and I am breathless with need once more.

**Author's Note:**

> Tegylwen refers to "the Old Forest" - obviously she does not mean the Forest on the borders of the Shire, where Tom Bombadil lives, she is using the phrase as people sometimes refer to "the Old Country" if they are children of parents who lived a large part of their lives somewhere else, perhaps still have loyalties towards another country, since Meieriel and Caradhil, for all their love of Ithilien and their new ways, have lived for a long while as part of what is now Eryn Lasgalen.


End file.
